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<title>Many Happy Returns by Moxibustion (RyuuzaKochou)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26987176">Many Happy Returns</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyuuzaKochou/pseuds/Moxibustion'>Moxibustion (RyuuzaKochou)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Robin, Flamebird &amp; Sparrow [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abandonment, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Character Study, Day Eight: Where Did Everybody Go?, Fun With Neo-Pronouns, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Introspection, Isolation, Jason Todd is a good friend, Tim Drake Is Lonely, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:00:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,936</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26987176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyuuzaKochou/pseuds/Moxibustion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim checked her phone. It was 11:41pm. They promised they'd be here.</p>
<p>Tim keeps a solitary vigil in an empty house, reflecting on the person she was and the one she is becoming.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Robin, Flamebird &amp; Sparrow [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947262</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>225</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Many Happy Returns</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Whumptober 2020 Day Eight: Abandonment/Isolation</p>
<p>Because Tim Drake is, quite frankly, the ideal candidate for this.</p>
<p>All kudos and gratitude to my tireless betas: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizuphae/pseuds/Mizuphae">Mizuphae</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumpkin/pseuds/Bumpkin">Bumpkin</a>. What are you doing hanging around here? They're both terrific authors *shoo shoo hands* Go check them out.</p>
<p>As usual, any mistakes are all mine.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tim checked her phone. The time was 11:39pm. She thumbed her way back to the website she was scrolling through to kill time while she huddled on top of the main staircase in direct view of the front door.</p>
<p>
  <em> Ae/Aer/Aers/Aeself </em>
</p>
<p>Even though ae was wearing a loose tank top, the little round red marks on aer skin itched and stung. Even though the electrodes had been attached to Flamebird and not aer, aer’s messed up, damaged, cross-wired brain couldn’t tell the difference between someone else getting hurt and aer own body getting hurt. Mirror-touch synesthesia - where everyone else's physical sensations transcribe themselves onto aer body. Especially pain.</p>
<p>They hurt, ae hurts. They scream, ae screams.</p>
<p>That’s why aer journey into the vigilante scene was so radically different. How could ae hope to wade in and throw punches, when ae would also feel the punch aerself at the same time? </p>
<p>Ae could do it; ae’d learned how. Ae’d had so many ‘normal kid’ classes, including martial arts.</p>
<p>But ae’d also have to live with the aftermath. The tank top brushed the red, round electrode-shaped psychosomatic marks, a wound that had been inflicted on someone else, merely absorbed by aer synesthesia.</p>
<p>There was a <em> reason why </em> ae was medical, not combat.</p>
<p>Tim shook away the heavy memories. That night had been awful and ae tried not to think about it too much.</p>
<p>Better to stick to the list, to the research.</p>
<p>
  <em> Cae/Caer/Chem/Caerself </em>
</p>
<p>Cae checked caer messages again. There were no new ones, but cae liked to look at the string of texts and memes that Jason had sent. He’d load them with emojis and jokes, with complaints about school, and anything and everything about his day. Cae didn’t mind the spam. It was always the best feeling in the world for caer, knowing that someone cares so much and would put so much effort into connecting with caer.</p>
<p>His last message was an invite to come over for caer birthday, but cae’d politely declined. Caer’s parents had promised a surprise this year, and cae didn’t want to miss it.</p>
<p>He’d sent a string of crying emojis. What a drama queen.</p>
<p>Cae smiled at it.</p>
<p>Then cae went to the website and scrolled again.</p>
<p>
  <em> Fey/Feyr/Feyself </em>
</p>
<p>Cass was also a diligent texter. What she lacked in verbal eloquence, she more than made up for in her writing. Plus, she liked sending feyr pictures of every stray cat she saw in Bludhaven, some of which Tim was absolutely certain she’d scaled impossible places to get the shot. </p>
<p>Tim wished fey could get out and photograph the world like that. After the accident, fey’d been bedridden for nearly a year, and in a wheelchair two years beyond that, struggling through physiotherapy and pain-management. Fey reckoned that if it hadn’t been for the accident, fey’d have gone out into Gotham feyself, armed with a camera, to get shots of the dynamic duo feyself. As it was, fey had religiously collected clippings and watched what little, bad footage they’d ever captured of Batman and Robin. It had been a sort of redirection therapy for feyr pain and loneliness.</p>
<p>Feyr parents hadn’t been around very much. They’d been busy travelling, going on digs, marketing the cybernetic parts to whomever would listen to the pitch. Which had been necessary, fey admitted hastily, but hadn’t left them much time to hang out with Tim.</p>
<p>Fey checked the time again. 11:42.</p>
<p>Fey abruptly rose and started walking the halls, scrolling as fey went.</p>
<p>
  <em> Hie/Hir/Hirs/Hemself </em>
</p>
<p>Hir parents weren’t here. They were, hie admitted, <em> never </em> really here. Hie wanted to resent it, to rage against their absence, but was too well aware that maybe that absence was more hir fault than theirs.</p>
<p>That sounded ridiculous from the outset. They were <em> parents</em>. They were supposed to be there for hir. They were supposed to cherish their time with hir.</p>
<p>But, here was the complication. Maybe they’d already <em> tried</em>. </p>
<p>Hie had been a difficult child to love. Hir sensory issues permeated everything hie did, every interaction with every other person hie had ever <em> met </em> . Maybe, when faced with a child who <em> shrieked </em> when hie heard loud noises, whose damaged brain made hir cry every time hie witnessed something violent - even <em> pretend </em> violent - they had simply done what they could, even if it was just keeping their distance.</p>
<p>Hie didn’t like to think about it -- but maybe the first rejection had been on <em> hir </em> side. Maybe after a while it had all gotten too hard to keep trying. Hie couldn’t even <em> communicate </em> properly that hie could take a hug now without freaking out. That hie was better.</p>
<p>Hie wasn’t better, though. Not totally. Hir parents didn’t want an ‘okay’ child. They wanted perfection. Hie had more flaws than hie could reasonably hide. Even now hie could see the strained patience of their faces as they chastised hir once again; <em> speak clearly, Tiamat. Stop letting it beat you. It was years ago! </em></p>
<p>Hie strived and strived; hie practiced in the mirror until hir jaw ached; hie studied and practiced diligently and got top grades and stayed on top of all hir extra curricular activities and… and it all just felt like hie was offering them shoddy consolation prizes. That hie was failing by willfully and stubbornly not fixing the problem.</p>
<p>Who could love a child that was so difficult, that added so many obstacles to their otherwise smooth and ordered lives? Whom they hadn’t been able to hug or play with or do normal stuff with, because of a broken, mis-wired brain?</p>
<p>Maybe they left because Tim rejected them <em> first</em>. </p>
<p>
  <em> Pix/Pixs/Pixself </em>
</p>
<p>Pix ran pixs hands over the piano in the ballroom, half-remembered tunes, complete with the tactile sensations they evoked, briefly flashing through pixs mind. Pix knew six different kinds of sign language, could play five musical instruments, could understand seven languages although the speaking of them was where pix faltered. </p>
<p>Pix knew every code ever invented.</p>
<p>Pix could communicate <em> effortlessly </em>in almost every way, except when pix used pixs own voice. Pix could understand almost everybody, but couldn’t convey a clear word for pixself. </p>
<p>Nor any words for pixs parents. Somehow, communicating with them always seemed just out of reach, just a step too far, just a minute too late. They were all out of synch, talking at each other, or in pixs’ case, barely getting the chance to talk at all.</p>
<p>Pix wished some days that she could somehow fathom the language of her parents. That pix could find some means to address the disconnect. </p>
<p>Pix checked the time again. 11:51.</p>
<p>
  <em> Se/Ser/Sym/Symself </em>
</p>
<p>Se had tried ser best. Se had worked and worked and worked through the pain, doing everything the doctors had told ser to do, and pushed even further still when ser parents asked it of ser? </p>
<p>It was important to market the product. For the good of the company, for new contracts, more profits, and everything else. They knew it was hard, that the therapy was painful, but <em> we really need to show progress by the deadline, darling. You want this to be a success, don’t you? You’re a Drake! Drakes succeed. </em></p>
<p>Tim left the ballroom and started to run. With only one brace on, nothing on the other side to balance up the tremendous forces that the cyber joint could churn out, it was a lopsided affair. Nevertheless, se bounced off side tables and walls, up and down banisters, flipping and tumbling like se’d learned in gymnastics, breathing like se’d learned in martial arts, ignoring the pain like se’d learned on her own, in ser own way, by symself. The pain didn’t slow ser down; it made ser move <em> faster </em>.</p>
<p>Beat for beat in time with her pounding feet, se began reciting first aid mnemonics in ser head; <em> ASHICE - Age, Sex, History, Conditions, ETA. CSCATTT - Command, Safety, Communication, Assessment, Triage, Treatment, Transport. DRABCDE - Danger, Response, Airway, Breathing, Circulation, Deformity, Environment/Expose/Everything Else. AVPU - Alert, Voice Responsive, Pain Responsive, Unresponsive. METHANE - Major incident, Exact location, Type of incident, Hazards, Access and egress, Number/type/severity of injuries, Emergency service present and required. </em></p>
<p>Tim stopped dead, staring at ser’s face in the hall mirror where ser impromptu sprint had ended. Ser long, dark hair was wildly tangled, ser clothes askew, ser face flushed and sweaty.</p>
<p><em> Required </em> . It was a hell of a word. Almost the same as <em> needed. </em></p>
<p>Se looked at ser phone again. Ser’s wild dash and bouncing across the walls had messed up ser methodical strategy of reading down the list on the page.</p>
<p>
  <em> Xie/Xem/Xyr/Xyrself </em>
</p>
<p>Xie automatically started to straighten xyrself up in the mirror, then wondered why xie even bothered. Xie might as well be loafing around in xyr pyjamas, even though xie was expressly forbidden to wear such slovenly clothing outside xyr bedroom. </p>
<p>Xie’d be hard pressed to name the reason why xyr parents would even <em> care</em>. It’s not like they were around to even <em> be </em> offended.</p>
<p>Xyr hand tightened convulsively on the phone. Xie looked away from mirror and the sight of xyr own eyes, forcing xyrself to relax. </p>
<p>So her parents didn’t <em> need </em> xyr. So they were never here. So what?</p>
<p>Without their absence, Sparrow would be an impossibility. When xie put on that mask and became a <em> he </em> to the world, the words came effortlessly and smoothly. So did <em> his </em> confidence. Years and years of therapy, but it was Batman’s method of coping that had finally set <em> him </em>free.</p>
<p>When xie took off the mask, it wasn’t like <em> she </em> was somehow lesser because of it. <em> She </em> was a different sort of mask. One that was so keenly aware of the pains of the world that <em> she </em> could either lock herself away, or reach out and help every and any way she could possibly do for as long as she could. Even if it was just ice packs on sore muscles. </p>
<p>He fought, she endured. He talked, she sang. He applied, she learned. </p>
<p>Xie needed both of them. And so did Batman and Robin.</p>
<p>And if it wasn’t <em> everything </em> xie could have wished for, even if there was no presents, or cake or <em> we’re so proud of you</em>, well, it was pretty damn terrific all the same.</p>
<p>Breathing slower now, Tim looked down at the phone, wandering slowly back to the main staircase in full view of the front door where the whole vigil had started. </p>
<p><em> Xie </em>, Tim thought. Xie, xie, xie. It fit, xie decided.</p>
<p>Xie checked the phone again. 12:01am. July 20th.</p>
<p>Tim sighed. “Ha-Happy Birthday, Timmy. Be-be-belated, I guess.”</p>
<p>The house remained as silent as ever. The only sound was the echoes of xyr own voice.</p>
<p>Tim scoffed. “Why do I even keep hoping?” It wasn’t like he didn’t <em> know </em> what they actually meant when they said they’d be here.</p>
<p>Tim looked at the message app again.</p>
<p>Slowly, the words <em> Do you want to go to the arcade tomorrow</em>? Appeared in the text box, as if they’d typed themselves. The cursor blinked innocently.</p>
<p>Tim adapted. Tia hoped.</p>
<p>Tia hit send.</p>
<p>She sat back on the steps, in the dark, alone, waiting for a reply.</p>
<p>Her phone beeped. She scrambled to open the message.</p>
<p><em>Awesome. Prepare for an ass-kicking. 10-ish? We can go for shakes after.</em> <em>I’m paying. That’s the Bday rule, bby-b.</em></p>
<p>Tia smiled.</p>
<p>Need was nice. Want was better. For the first time, there were friends there that could. And would.</p>
<p>She still hoped. It just wasn't for the thing she always used to hope for anymore.</p>
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